


On The Mend

by blackcoffeeandteardrops



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Pre-X-Files Revival, Sick Fic, i love tropes okay, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-12 14:25:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7109008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackcoffeeandteardrops/pseuds/blackcoffeeandteardrops
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Scully gets injured, Mulder jumps at the chance to help her recover. Set pre-revival, but with the canon idea that they've at least been on the outs for a few months in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> You know how sometimes an idea grabs you and won't let go? Yeah, that happened. This kind of got away from me, and so rather than posting one long and drawn out piece, I've broken it up a little bit. It's tropey, but honestly some of the best stories are. Thanks for reading!

The ride to the hospital passed in a blur, rain splattering the windshield as Mulder drove quicker than was probably safe, but from the moment he’d gotten the phone call, he didn’t care. He’d been having a quiet Friday afternoon at home--TCM was playing one of his favorites--but when the hospital called saying Scully had been hurt, he didn’t even let them finish before saying he’d be right there.

He ran a hand over his face, trying to remind himself that he didn’t know what he was walking into, or for that matter, if upon arriving Scully would even welcome him. It had been months since they’d seen each other, although he knew from time to time she’d swing by the house to pick up things she needed or had forgotten. Things like shampoo and perfume were easily replaceable, but he’d come home a time or two to find a chair wasn’t exactly where he left it, and some of her favorite books and coffee mugs had suddenly disappeared weeks after she’d left. They talked on the phone at least once a week once the dust had settled, but sometimes he wondered if the time would come when he wouldn’t answer. He toyed with the idea each time she called, and every time he picked up, because he knew just as well as she did that whatever semblance of a relationship they had couldn’t be severed completely.

He parked the car, slamming the door shut and ignoring how the rain caused his clothes to stick to his skin and the chill that hit him upon entering the hospital. He scanned his surroundings, searching for a sign or someone who could point him in the right direction. “Excuse me,” he said, eager to catch the attention of a nurse sitting behind the central desk, not caring for the way she smiled apologetically, gesturing to the phone she was using. “Yes, I know. But if you could give me a moment, I need to find my wife. She was admitted a little while ago. She actually works here...Doctor Dana Scully, maybe you know her?”

Before the nurse could even respond, the sound of someone calling for him from the elevator bank caught his attention. “You’re here for Dana, aren’t you? Fox?”

“Just Mulder, but yes. Do you know where she is?” Mulder asked, struggling to hear himself over the sound of his pulse thrumming loudly in his ears. The woman, brown hair pulled back into a braid and face fixed into a look of concern should probably be somewhat familiar to him, given how in the earlier years he had made an attempt at attending hospital Christmas parties and faculty functions. But as he watched her press the up button on the elevator, he found his regrets lied not so much in not knowing her name as in the fact he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Scully get dressed up. The parties weren’t entirely her thing, but he remembered the year they’d snuck away to her office for a private celebration, and he vowed to never miss another one again. As the woman beckoned him inside the elevator, the regret of breaking said vow hit him harder than he’d like to admit.

“I was going to fetch a coffee, but come on. I’ll take you to her room.”

He closed his eyes, and drew in a deep breath to try and at least appear composed. Somewhere in the hospital, Scully was hurt, and the more time he spent trying to force communication with someone else, the longer it would take to get to her. “We’re going up? That’s gotta be a good sign, right?”

The woman furrowed her brow and pressed the button for the correct floor. “They didn’t tell you much information on the phone, did they? Doctor Scully was walking down a stairwell earlier this evening when she was involved in an altercation. Rather, she happened to be in the wrong place when a man who was trying to flee the hospital ran into her. As I understand it, the man was not in his correct frame of mind, and so when she tried to help him, he inadvertently pushed her backwards, causing--”

“Yeah, I get the picture,” Mulder replied, again closing his eyes. He didn’t want the image of Scully lying hurt in a stairwell, or to imagine how long she’d lain there before help arrived in his mind. He followed the woman from the elevator, turning down one hallway and then another before stopping at a closed door. “Is this it?”

The woman nodded, clearing her throat to speak before he had a chance to enter. “When I left the room a bit ago, she was...not entirely herself. The pain medication appears to have had some effect on her, although I suppose that’s a good thing.”

“Thank you…” Mulder trailed off, again trying to place the name of the woman he was certain he’d have met at one of the parties Scully had drug him to.

As if sensing his hesitation, she smiled. “Cait. Anyway, I really should be going. I’ll check back in later.”

Mulder watched her walk around the corner before heading into the room, unsure of just what he’d find. He spotted Scully sitting up in the bed, arm in a sling and foot carefully propped up, her eyes nearly closed until she caught the sight of him.

“Mulder, you didn’t have to come! I told them I was fine, that I was all fine. In fact, I feel--”

“Fine?” Mulder asked, tentatively stepping closer to the bed. He eyed her curiously, somewhat amused at the laughter that bubbled past her lips. Whatever horrific images his mind had conjured upon hearing she’d been hospitalized, this was not what he expected to find. “Scully, forgive me for saying this, but you’re lying in a hospital bed all banged up. To say you’re fine right now would be a gross overstatement.”

Scully shook her head, wincing as she did so. “Maybe that was a bad idea. Ow.”

“I suppose it would be in poor taste to ask how you’re feeling, considering the answer is fairly obvious,” Mulder replied. He watched as she focused her gaze on her free hand, picking at the cuticle of her thumb with her index finger. Her actions seemed slow and deliberate, and he found himself wondering what was running through her mind. “Do you remember what happened?”

Again Scully tried moving her head, realizing too late that doing so was perhaps a mistake. “The pain medication they have me taking may be dulling the physical aspects of what happened, but yes. I remember.”

Mulder slowly reached across the bed for her hand, lacing their fingers together. It was the closest they’d come since she’d decided to leave him. He felt a little guilty, almost as if he were taking advantage of the situation, but he needed the physical proof she was okay. “When the nurse called me...you have to know I was worried, Scully. I wasn’t sure what happened to you, or--”

“About that,” Scully said, tongue darting out to moisten her parched lips. “I haven’t had reason or opportunity to alter my emergency contact in my personnel file. I’m sorry they bothered you, Mulder, but really, I’ll be okay.”

”Okay? Scully, you were pushed down a flight of stairs, albeit on accident, but none the less it happened. Your arm is in a sling, and by the look of it, your leg isn’t in great shape either. I’d hardly say that qualifies you as okay.”

Scully closed her eyes against the anger in his voice and made an effort to pull her hand away, but wasn’t able to pull free from his grasp. The warmth of his touch had been something she missed more than she cared to admit, and while she tried telling herself the medication had something to do with it, she was relieved upon feeling his thumb start tracing circles against the back of her hand. She’d missed the intimacy of quiet moments with him, but also knew it wasn’t enough to sustain their fragile relationship. She cleared her throat, prepared to suggest he go, before the sound of the door opening caught both of their attention.

“Doctor Scully, you seem to be in better spirits than when I saw you a few hours ago,” the grey haired doctor said, walking into the room and adjusting the lapel of his labcoat with one hand while clutching a computer tablet in the other. “I’m sure you’re tired of the question at this point, but how are you feeling?”

Scully laughed, and despite the pain medication weakening her senses, she knew there was no use in trying to lie. “I feel sore. It hurts. I’ve survived worse though, you know,” she said, giggling to herself and giving Mulder’s hand a squeeze. She knew the man sitting beside her had full knowledge of just how true that statement was.

The doctor tapped at his tablet screen for a few moments before looking back up at her. “I know I shouldn’t have to tell you that recovery from injuries such as the ones you’ve suffered can at times be hard. It’s important that you take it easy. However, I see no reason we need to keep you overnight. You’ll need to have someone close by for the next day or two to monitor your improvement, but aside from that, I’m prepared to sign your discharge paperwork.”

“I can call my mother, I’m sure it wouldn’t be a problem for me to stay the weekend,” Scully replied, only for a thought to occur a few moments later. She pulled her hand free from Mulder’s, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Wait, I can’t do that. She flew out west to help Tara recover from surgery. I can’t ask her to fly back early because of me.”

“It’s okay, doctor,” Mulder said, piping up before she had a chance to refuse the offer. He was focused on her doctor, but he could feel her eyes honing in on him. If he were to look her way, he knew there would be at least a hint of panic evident in her features. “I’ll make sure she’s taken care of. Now, about those release papers?”

The next few minutes were filled with the doctor explaining the terms of her release before telling them the nurse would be back in as soon as said papers were signed. When he left the room, Scully began to refuse Mulder’s offer, just as he suspected she would. The last thing she wanted was to burden him with having to take care of her, but aside from that, she wasn’t entirely certain of how she’d react to being alone in the same house with him again. Having him focus all his attention on her, making sure she was comfortable and, as the doctor had said, eating and taking her medications properly, seemed an impossible task. She’d moved out for a reason, and while their weekly phone conversations suggested he was making improvements, Scully was afraid of what putting them under the same roof for an extended period of time would do.

Mulder wasn’t going to take no for an answer however, and so a short while later he’d happily helped her into the car. He’d tried to hide his amusement at the way she almost instantly curled against the car door, head leaning against the window as she quietly nodded off to sleep. He would never admit it out loud, but he was glad to see that her ability to fall asleep basically anywhere had never changed. The drive to the house had been uneventful as she’d slept the whole time, but as he parked the car he realized he’d have to risk waking her up in order to get her inside. He studied her sleeping form for a few minutes, guiltily drinking in the peaceful expression on her face and her parted lips, before hastily unbuckling his seat belt and moving around to her side of the car.

Scully was woken up by the soft feeling of his fingers tracing her cheek. Feeling warm in the coat he’d offered her as a blanket before sleep claimed her, she burrowed further into her seat, not yet fully awake. “Feels good.”

At that he took a step back, looking up at the clouds that loomed above. “Come on, we’d better get inside before the rain starts up again.”

Her eyes snapped open, reality settling in like a fog around her. She looked past him, trying to make sense of the house she’d called home for so many years being where she’d be spending the next few days.

“Look, I can take you to your apartment if you’d be more comfortable. I should’ve asked anyway, but I figured things would be easier here. I’m sorry,” he said, reaching up to massage the back of his neck.

Regardless of whatever uncertainty remained between them, she knew there was no way she could ask him to get back in and drive her in the direction they’d come from. Truth be told, the idea of nestling into the couch cushions and returning to the nap she’d been having moments before sounded entirely appealing. “You don’t have to be,” she said, shifting in her seat. She grabbed his arm, intent on using it as leverage to help her stand. “Come on, Mulder. Help me get inside.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally, this was only meant to be a oneshot. And then, well, plot bunnies happened. I love these characters and I love peeling back their layers a little bit. My only hope is that I serve them well & I do them justice. Thanks for reading!

Mulder was carrying a large mug of soup into the living room, intent on giving it to Scully, but stopped at the sound of her on the phone. 

“I know, mom. It’s something I’ll have to have them address once I’m allowed back at work,” she said. Scully seemed to sense Mulder’s presence however, craning her neck to look at him and offering a weak smile. She tilted her head and rested the phone on her shoulder, trying to push herself up into more of a sitting position to give him someplace to sit. The smell of chicken and garlic wafted over from the soup and she felt her stomach lurch. Prior to the accident, she’d eaten a bagel in her office, but it was evening and she was hungry. “Okay, yes. I have to go, mom. Please give Tara my best.”

Mulder stood wary at the end of the couch, hand curled around the mug and waiting for her to end the call. “Everything okay?”

She nodded, taking the mug from him and resting it carefully on a pillow in her lap, relishing in the warmth the soup provided. “I wanted mom to know what happened. If I waited, I knew she’d kill me. Although,” she mused, slowly sipping some of the broth. She used the spoon he’d given her to fish a piece of chicken out and chewed it slowly. “It’s hardly the worst condition she’s found me in. Mulder, this soup is great. We didn’t stop anywhere on the way here, where’d you get it?”

He shoved one hand into the pocket of his jeans and shrugged. As much as he enjoyed it, a part of him was struggling to accept the fact she was sitting on their couch eating dinner. Save the sling one of her arms was in and the way her ankle was carefully propped up, it was almost as if the past six months had never happened. He could feel her eyes on him, questioning, and cleared his throat to respond. “I made it. The chicken is store bought, but the carrots and potatoes are from the garden I’ve been growing out back.”

“You’re growing a garden?” she asked, failing to hide the surprise in her voice. 

“Yeah, it’s not much. Carrots, potatoes...I spotted some tomatoes finally starting to grow when I was out there yesterday. You could take a look in the morning if you’re feeling up to it,” he said, realizing a few seconds too late just how hopeful he sounded. He mentally kicked himself, knowing full well that had the accident not happened the odds of her even sitting there would be very low. They’d started repairing their fractured relationship, but this was a big step from calls that mostly consisted of her telling him about her day. He hated thinking he’d overstepped some invisible boundary.

Scully traced the lip of the mug with her thumb, staring into the soup rather than at him. Despite the fog the pain medications had put her under, she’d known even back at the hospital that coming back to the house and letting him take care of her might not be the wisest idea. “Mulder, if my being here is going to be too hard for you--”

“No, no, it’s fine, Scully. Really,” he replied. “In fact, I’m going to go grab myself some soup, and then maybe we can settle in for a movie? Do you need anything else? Are you comfortable?”

“No,” she replied, hating the fact she was the reason he was so nervous. They’d shared countless meals together long before they were ever romantically involved, why did this have to be any different? Surely they were capable of enjoying one another’s company outside the realm of anything more serious, she thought, although she knew what they’d been before had never completely gone away. She could feel his gaze still on her, waiting, and she knew her answer hadn’t been good enough. “Really, I’m fine. Go, get some food. I’ll try to see what movies are playing.”

Mulder returned a few minutes later with some soup for himself and two water bottles. Despite her insisting she was fine, he watched her gratefully gulp down several sips of water before trying in vain to twist the cap back on with one free hand. He reached over without looking, taking the bottle and twisting the cap on halfway, leaving it just loose enough that she could unscrew it without having to ask him for help. He sat the bottle onto the coffee table before settling back into the cushions, draping his arm along the back of the couch.

“Thank you,” Scully replied, grateful for the fact he’d turned the lights off after they’d finished eating. The light from the TV wasn’t enough to show the pink that was surely creeping up her cheeks. She felt a bit guilty, agreeing to let him take care of her but still feeling like she had to take care of herself, and she tried reminding herself that if the tables were turned she would be doing the same thing. They’d been taking turns, nursing each other’s wounds, for far longer than she cared to think about. Beside her, Mulder coughed, and she became aware of how close they were sitting. At least half a cushion’s space separated them, but she could feel his fingers along the back of the couch stirring her hair. She wasn’t sure if it was intentional or some sort of ghost of a reflex, but as she pulled the blanket on her lap closer around her and felt her eyelids begin to grow heavy, she found she didn’t care.

Mulder wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but when he risked a glance at Scully, she’d fallen asleep. He laughed, drinking in the way her head had fallen back against the couch, her lips parting slightly as she slept. He watched her for a few seconds before the responsible side of him took over. He brushed the hair from her face, giving her a gentle shake. “Hey, Scully. Come on, there's no way you’re comfortable sleeping like this. You need to lie down.”

Scully pulled the blanket up to her chin and shook her head, her eyes still closed while she yawned, still half asleep. “S’okay. I’m good right here.”

He inched closer to her as the thought occurred that prior to taking her from the hospital, they hadn’t exactly discussed sleeping arrangements. Considering her ankle was firmly in a walking boot, upstairs wasn’t exactly the easiest option, but he wasn’t about to let her sleep on the couch. “No, you’re not. We both know you won’t be comfortable here. Come on, I’ll help you upstairs,” he said, but after a few seconds, it was clear she wouldn’t be moving anywhere unless he was the instigator. Without thinking too much about it, he lifted the blanket from her and looped one arm under her legs while resting the other looped around her shoulders. His knees groaned in protest as he lifted her, and he stood still for a moment to ensure they were both steady. 

“Mulder, what are you doing?” Scully muttered, face pressed flush against his sweater. She opened and closed her eyes a few times, too tired to fight. “Your back--”

“--is fine, don’t worry about it,” Mulder replied as he mounted the stairs. A memory flashed of a time that felt like eons before, just after they’d moved in when every room of the house smelled of Pinesol and fresh paint. They’d been up late working on the kitchen when he’d decided they’d had enough and playfully thrown her over his shoulder, declaring them officially on break for the evening. They’d spent a fair amount of time christening the upstairs bathroom before moving onto the master bedroom. As he pushed open the bedroom door with his hip, he couldn’t help feeling like the memory happened a lifetime before, and he couldn’t help thinking she was quite possibly lighter to carry in that moment than she was years before. He stopped short of letting himself wonder why, opting instead to busy himself with making sure she was comfortably ensconced on the bed before quietly slipping out of the room.

Scully woke up the next morning feeling warm and comfortable. Cocooned in a mass of blankets, she opened her eyes and blinked a few times, trying to make sense of her surroundings. She was at home, in their bed, and the spot next to her was undisturbed and empty. It wasn’t an entirely new sight, but as she attempted to roll onto her side, a jolt of pain shot up her leg, and her memory was quickly brought up to speed.

She remembered the way Mulder had carried her up the stairs, laying her on the bed so carefully that she might break. He’d removed the cast boot and set in on the floor before peeling the sheets back and helping her get more comfortable. She pulled the blankets closer around her, thinking of the way she’d sleepily reached out for his hand, the invitation for him to stay stopped in her throat, choosing instead to only thank him. It was the least he could do, or so he’d said, but she could tell even then how much he’d hoped her words had been different.

She closed her eyes, trying to listen for where in the house he might be. There were no sounds of footsteps in the hall, and she couldn’t hear the muffled sound of the tv from downstairs, so curiosity got the better of her and she began the task of getting up. She elected to strap the boot on first, trying very carefully not to move her injured arm more than necessary. After her arm was once again secured in the sling, she started making her trek downstairs. 

The smell of coffee wafted in from the kitchen, so she elected to go there first. Finding the room empty, she frowned, but decided to help herself to a cup of coffee none the less. She was about to grab a mug from the cabinet before spotting one sitting right next to the coffee pot, clearly meant for her. She shuffled over, pouring coffee into the cup and seeing the machine hadn’t shut off yet, which meant he couldn’t have been gone too long. She reached into the fridge for cream, catching sight of his note when she’d closed it: Out back in the garden. Let me know if you need anything.

Scully traced a fingertip over his familiar scrawl, remembering the earlier days of living in the house when leaving each other notes was commonplace. She’d leave him one saying she’d be coming home late from the hospital, he’d left her mundane things such as letting her know he’d stepped out for milk. Occasionally, there’d be a note from him when she’d come home from a long day, telling her to meet him upstairs, and he’d have decked the bathroom out in candles and filled the bath with bubbles, fully intent on joining her in the tub and relaxing her after a stressful day. But as the years wore on the notes started appearing less and less, and she couldn’t remember the last time he’d left her a note simply telling her where to find him. She thought of joining him in the garden, of complimenting him on his progress, but the reality of finding herself alone in the home they once shared was entirely too inviting. It was true that she’d slipped in a few times since she’d left, but never long enough to enjoy the peace and quiet.

She grabbed her coffee, taking a healthy sip, and made her way into the living room, gravitating towards the bookcase. Her gaze raked the shelf over, noting the few gaps where she’d pulled volumes from, but everything else appeared the same. She eventually managed to make her way to the closed door of Mulder’s office, hesitating a few moments before slowly opening the door and hobbling inside. Her eyes drank in the room, which was far more tidy than when she’d seen it last. A stack of newspaper clippings still sat on a table and heaps of notebooks seemed to take up every surface, but she couldn’t help noticing there seemed to be a great deal of order and organization about things. 

She set her mug on his desk, gingerly running her fingertips across the back of his computer chair, remembering far too well the last time she’d stepped foot in Mulder’s office. He’d been hunched over the computer, face bathed in the blue glow of the screen and eyes glazed over when she’d opened the door to tell him she was leaving. He’d simply told her okay, reality not yet dawning on him. When she’d finally gotten him to pry his attention away from whatever conspiracy forum plagued his interest, he’d settled his eyes on the suitcases at her feet, drawing a breath in deep before again saying okay and turning his attention back to the screen. He’d all but given up hope and desire to change, although as she thought of the way he’d agreed to watch over her without hesitation, she couldn’t help thinking that somehow that had changed.

Knowing she’d at least have a few minutes to herself, Scully allowed some of the tension in her body to ease, slowing rolling her shoulders back and forth a few times while taking in more of her surroundings. Her eyes caught the sight of something black and white sticking out of a manila folder and curiosity got the best of her. Her foot was beginning to ache too much for comfort however, so she first sat down in the chair before flipping the folder open, her breath catching in her chest at what she saw. She’d known Mulder had a knack for art, albeit it hadn’t been so strong in their earlier years, but upon settling in their house she’d gotten him a charcoal pencil set and he’d gladly taken to the craft. The sketches in the folder were the first she’d seen him draw of people rather than things. 

The first was of the two of them, crouched down and eyeing something on the ground, and was nearly a carbon copy of a crime scene photograph she was certain had been published in an article about them years before. She flipped through a few more, noting the majority were of her or of them together, until she caught sight of one that made her gasp. A young boy, pudgy fingers wrapped tightly around a block, bottom lip sucked between his fragile baby teeth and eyes fixed in a look of concentration at the lego tower at his feet. She didn’t have to guess who the inspiration for that drawing had been, although neither of them had been around him at that age to know just what he’d look like. Scully set it aside, rubbing the back of her hand at the tears she felt pricking her eyes as she looked at more of the drawings. There were more of him, each gradually older than the last, stopping at a profile of a lanky boy who undeniably looked fairly similar to his father, basketball in hand and poised to shoot. She ran a finger across his face, this time not stopping the tears as they fell. “Oh, Mulder…” she whispered, thinking of the hours he’d surely spent on the images, ruminating on their son and on the life that could’ve been.

The sound of the back door creaking open brought her to her senses and she quickly slid the drawings back into the folder where she’d found them. She heard Mulder call her name a few times, but before she could respond, he pushed the office door open, eyeing her with obvious trepidation. “How are you feeling this morning? Any better?”

“As well as can be expected, I suppose,” she replied, lifting her injured foot slowly before setting it back down. She spotted the dirt on his hands and the sweat seeping through his shirt and smiled. “How is the garden?”

Mulder nodded, lifting his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. He raked a hand through his hair, leaving a smudge of dirt on his cheek in its wake. “It’s usually not as hot in the mornings, but it’s already sweltering out there. The forecast calls for rain this afternoon though, which is good. We need it.”

Scully nodded slowly, finding the idea of them discussing something so mundane somewhat laughable. Why was it talking about simple things was so easy, but speaking about the things that mattered wasn’t? She realized similar thoughts must’ve been running through his head as he fidgeted in the doorway, crossing and uncrossing his arms before settling against the doorframe. This was the first time since she’d left they were both in this room at the same time, and neither seemed to know how to handle it. “I wasn’t trying to pry by coming in here. I just wasn’t sure where you’d gone when I got up this morning. Thank you for the coffee.”

Mulder shrugged, pretending it was nothing. “It doesn’t really count as prying when it’s your house, now does it, Scully? And you’re welcome,” he replied before catching sight of the file of drawings beside her. He swallowed hard before gesturing in its direction. “What do you think?”

Scully stared down at her lap for a moment, knowing she’d been caught. “I think they’re great, Mulder. You’re very talented. A far leap from the vague monster police sketches of yesteryear.”

Warmth pooled in his chest at the sight of her smile, knowing it was hard earned. He sobered up, knowing she’d seen the other drawings, and decided against the desire to change the subject, choosing instead to soldier ahead. “What about the other ones?”

She nodded, more to herself than to him. She adjusted the strap of the sling, borrowing a few precious seconds before replying. “I think about him all the time, too. I’ve often found myself wondering what he might look like, what hobbies he might be interested in,” she said, finally feeling brave enough to look back up at him. “I don’t think you’re that far off.”

“Well, I mean, maybe it’s not basketball. It could be football, or baseball, too. As long as it’s not golf,” Mulder replied, opting for humor in a subject that had always been tinged with a certain amount of melancholy. He heard her laugh and closed his eyes. 

“Mulder, these drawings...” she said, her free hand coming to rest on top of the file. “If I’ve ever...what I’m trying to say is...I don’t want you to feel as if you need to hide these things from me. I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep them tucked away, or--”

“I know,” Mulder interrupted. He kicked the toe of his shoe against the floor and soil from outside littered the carpet. He’d have to clean later, but for now he found he didn’t care. “Doctor Lance seems to think drawing is a healthy coping mechanism for anxiety, although I suspect if he knew the content and why I drew what I did, he’d have a lot more to say.”

Scully’s eyebrow shot up in surprise. “You’re seeing the therapist I suggested?”

“Every Tuesday. At least for a while now. I was skeptical at first if it would help, but it has. I’ve made progress, Scully. I’m trying.”

“I can see that, Mulder. I’m happy for you,” Scully replied, her voice wavering. She opened her mouth to say more, but stopped at the sound of her phone ringing. Smiling apologetically, she made a move to get up and fetch it, only for Mulder to shake his head. “It’s probably mom, checking up to make sure I’m okay this morning. If I don’t answer--”

Before she could finish, Mulder darted out of the room, grabbing the phone before it could go to voicemail. “You can take it in here,” he said, handing her the phone before backing towards the door. 

Scully answered the call, watching as Mulder mimed that he was going to go take a shower, although the rattling of the old pipes a few moments later would’ve been evidence enough. She was grateful to hear her mother’s voice, welcoming the distraction from letting herself think of what was currently happening in their upstairs bathroom. 

For the next few hours, they mutually agreed to give each other some space. After Mulder emerged from the shower, he busied himself by tidying upstairs. Upon finishing the conversation with her mom, Scully had settled on the couch with a book. He came downstairs to clean the mess he’d made tracking dirt inside, but when an offer to get her something to eat or drink was met by Scully insisting she was fine, he vacuumed the dirt and headed to the kitchen where he set about marinating steaks for dinner. She may not have been hungry then, but he knew he well enough to know it was only a matter of time. 

When it came time for him to grill the steaks, Scully had offered to help shuck corn, but he insisted on taking care of it. He cited her arm being injured as the reason even though she told him she could work around it, so after that she retired back to her spot on the couch, and nearly dozed off before he handed her a plate. He’d taken the courtesy of cutting the corn from the cob, a fact she wasn’t sure she liked, but she took the food gratefully just the same.

Mulder turned on the TV, more to have noise filling the room than anything else. Since their conversation earlier in the afternoon there had been noticeable silence between them, although it was nothing new. It was the most they’d talked about William in a long time, and he wanted to tell her he’d like to do so more often, but he wasn’t sure he had the right words. He stared at a local newscaster droning on about a break in that happened a couple towns over instead. After dinner, he took her plate and stood up, stating that he was going to take the trash out and he’d be back in a few minutes. He could have just taken everything to the can out back, but taking everything out to the road afforded him the several minutes trekking down their driveway alone. It surprised him that he’d even wanted the space, given how he’d jumped at the chance to take care of her as she nursed her injuries. 

Inside the house, Scully had begun to feel restless. As much as she enjoyed a day off, the idea of simply sitting around and not doing anything was causing her skin to crawl. She knew it was against orders, but she couldn’t help feeling like she should get up and do something, so she took it upon herself to clean up the kitchen. She was slower about it, wiping down the counters and organizing the dishes that needed washing with her good arm, but when it came to cleaning them, she hastily removed the sling. A few minutes staring into the soapy water, methodically wiping dishes clean, left her feeling almost in a trance, until she heard the sound of Mulder coming up behind her.

“What are you doing, Scully? Here, let me finish up,” Mulder said, making a move to take the sponge from her.

“No, it’s fine. Really, I’m okay,” she insisted, leaning her weight against the counter. It was partially to remove any pressure from her injured foot, but also to get at least a fraction of space between them. He was close enough for her to smell his cologne and feel his breath tickle the hairs on the back of her neck, but with the way he was acting, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to kiss him or push him away.

Mulder reached around her, hand curling possessively around hers, waiting until her fingers loosened their grip on the sponge before he let go. “Right now you’re regretting the fact you haven’t yet taken your medication this evening, and you're wishing a chair was closer by for you to sit, because I’m sure your foot is killing you. You’re not fine, Scully. You can sit down, let me take care of it.”

Whether it was the way he said it, or simply the fact he was still standing so close, Scully grabbed for the sponge again, angrily scrubbing at a plate in defiance. “I’m not an invalid, Mulder. I can take care of cleaning up. It’s fi--”

“Why did you even agree to come here if you won’t let me help you?” he interrupted, regretting the words the second he spoke them. As upset as he’d been, he didn’t want Scully to feel unwelcome in her own home. She’d been gone for months, but nothing could ever stop him from thinking of the place as theirs. She remained silent as he took a few steps back, carefully debating how best to proceed. Her back was to him so he couldn't get a read on her face, but the fact she hadn’t responded told him everything he needed to know. He headed for the back door before he could change his mind.

“Where are you going?” Scully asked, trying her best to keep her voice even.

He kept his eyes focused outside rather than at her, noting the storm clouds had grown closer, but still feeling the need to put physical distance between them, if only for a moment. “I need to survey the property line. There’s a piece of the fence I need to secure before the storm starts. One big wind gust and the whole section could blow over if I don’t fix it.”

Scully opened her mouth to ask why he hadn’t done so earlier in the day if he knew it was a problem, but thought better of it. She considered apologizing for being so adamant about at least trying to take care of things herself, although she knew it was no use. The sound of the door slamming shut echoed loudly through the house before she even had a chance to try, and while she found herself unhappy about the entire situation, she trudged over to the door, watching his retreating form and hoping he wouldn’t be gone long.


	3. Chapter 3

Scully was sitting at the kitchen table nursing a steaming cup of tea when Mulder came through the back door, clothes clinging to him and hair matted to his face. She looked up long enough to laugh in his general direction before focusing her attention on her reflection in the tea. “I suppose it’s safe to say you weren’t able to escape the storm?”

Mulder crossed the room to the stove, pulling a dishtowel free from the handle and dabbing the rain from his face. Outside, thunder clapped loudly and the wind rattled the windows. His eyes settled on the lip of the sink, the salt shaker on the table, even the empty garbage can he’d forgotten to put a new bag in--anything but her. “It took me longer than expected, but the fence is fixed,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. If only fixing other things were so easy, he thought. He studied the way her hands gripped tightly to her tea and knew she must’ve been sitting there with similar thoughts running through her head, but he was at a loss as to how best to approach the subject, given the way he’d ran out earlier. He pointed to the mug and cleared his throat. “You still like oolong?”

She raised the tea to her mouth and took a healthy sip, swallowing hard before responding. “You didn’t get rid of it.”

“What?” he asked, frowning in confusion. She still wasn’t looking at him, but suddenly he couldn’t tear his eyes away, fearing he’d miss whatever was about to happen next. 

“The tea, it was exactly where I kept it before I left. The honey, the kettle...everything,” she replied, cataloging it all in her head. Granted, she hadn’t been gone a terrible amount of time, but enough for her to be surprised at how little some things had changed, and how much others had. She thought of the comment he’d made earlier in the day about seeing Dr. Lance. “You’re really sticking with therapy?”

“Of course. I’ve made some progress, and while I know recovery is an ongoing process, I’d like to think I’ve made some headway,” he replied. He bit at his bottom lip, unsure of how to proceed. Things had been at a boiling point before he’d ran out the back door earlier in the evening, but now they were so quiet he was nearly afraid to speak. “What’s happening, Scully?”

She closed her eyes, drawing a deep breath through her nose to steal a few precious seconds before speaking. He was putting the ball in her court, leaving it up to her to decide which direction the night went. The image of him stomping out the door rather than staying and speaking with her still burned in her mind however, despite how much she might have wanted to move things forward. “You left.”

For a second, he wasn’t sure which time she was referring to, given how much digging into the past they’d been doing. But thinking she wasn’t up for much more walking down memory lane for the night, he opted to address the moment that had lead to him standing in their kitchen, clothes weighted down with rain, and feeling colder as the seconds ticked on. “I just...needed some time.”

Scully laughed to herself, shaking her head as she set her tea down and slowly stood up. Whatever desire she had to actually talk everything out had ebbed from her body, having been replaced by a weary desire to sleep. “It’s late,” she said, finally looking up at him. “I’m going to bed.”

He bit back his offer to help her upstairs, unsure anymore of how well it’d been received. They were dancing on the edge of something, that much was apparent, but he wasn’t certain of which of them would be the one to finally decide to jump over the ledge. “Hey, Scully?”

She stopped at the doorway, turning out the sound of his voice. “Yes?”

“Did you stay up to make sure I got in okay?” he asked. It had been a question he wasn’t aware he wanted to ask until the words were already out in the open, but now that they were, he was surprised at how much he wanted to know the answer.

Her eyes raked him over, noting the slightest outline of muscles on his abdomen through his rain-slicked shirt, knowing full well the heat pooling inside wasn’t just from the temperature in the room. She locked eyes with him and shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Goodnight, Mulder.”

While she headed upstairs to sleep, Scully wasn’t surprised to find that upon getting in bed it was the farthest thing from her mind. She thought of Mulder, sulking downstairs somewhere, and knew leaving when they could have talked had been cowardly. But to stay would have meant exposing wounds that were just beginning to scab over, and as she burrowed herself under the blankets, willing sleep to come, she wondered if they were ready. She wasn’t sure how much time had passed, having found herself floating in that space between sleeping and awake, but she heard the sound of someone who was definitely not her milling about the room. Her eyes snapped open and she reached blindly for her nightstand, the ghost of her former self reaching for her gun before coming to her senses. She could recognize the tall shadow standing by the bed anywhere. “Mulder?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he replied. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came up to try and find the book I’d been reading. I didn’t mean to wake you. Honest, doc.”

“S’okay,” she replied, rubbing at her eyes. “Did you find it?”

He waved the novel he’d found near his side of the bed at her before realizing a verbal response might be better. Though her eyes had surely adjusted to the darkness, it was still difficult to see. “Right where I left it. I guess memory isn’t too good in my old age.”

She smiled, laughing despite herself. “You’re not that old, Mulder. And even if you are, I’m not that far behind you.”

He’d only intended on slipping into the room, quickly grabbing his book, and slipping back out before she even knew he was there. But standing there in the dark, watching her silhouette on the bed backlit by the moon peeking through a slit in the curtains, he couldn’t help wanting more. “I’m sorry,” he said, kicking his bare foot at the edge of the duvet. “I shouldn’t have run out like that earlier. Doctor Lance says I should confront the issues I have in my life rather than pretending they don’t exist, but by leaving earlier, I guess I did the exact opposite. I’m sure he’ll love hearing about it in our session next week,” he said, clutching his book tightly. He watched her shift under the covers, intent on sitting up, and he wondered just how asleep she’d been before he came in the room. “Listen, I didn’t mean to wake you. It’s late and--”

“Come sit with me,” she replied, reaching to turn on the bedside lamp. She winced at the pain that jolted through her upon moving her injured foot too quickly. 

“The medication isn’t helping?” Mulder asked, carefully sitting down on the bed, making sure to leave a reasonable distance between them. 

Scully drew in a breath through her teeth. “It does, but that doesn’t mean sometimes it doesn’t hurt like hell.”

“The enigmatic Doctor Scully, at long last admitting she isn’t fine,” Mulder replied, hoping the words didn’t come out harsher than he intended. He held up his arm, pointing at a scratch she hadn’t seen earlier in the kitchen. “I know it’s nowhere near the same thing, but we’re quite the pair, aren’t we?”

“Did you get that while fixing the fence? Why wouldn’t you tell me?” she asked, grabbing his wrist to bring his arm closer for inspection. “It’s not deep, and I know you’re up to date on your tetanus, but tell me you at least cleaned it up? I don’t want you to risk infection.”

“I got my arm caught up in some of the wire and it scraped me, but it’s nothing to worry about. I wiped it clean before I came inside, and washed it with antibacterial soap after you came up here,” he said, relishing the way her fingertips graced his skin. He found the way her eyes fixed themselves in a look of concentration adorable, though he was sure she’d kill him if he said so out loud. “So you’re allowed to take care of me, but it’s not the same the other way around. Is that it?”

The hurt in his voice was justified. She knew that, but she hated admitting to herself she was the reason it was there in the first place. She traced the pattern on the comforter with her fingertip and risked a glance in his direction. “Do you understand why I left?”

“It was because of me,” he replied, as if it were obvious. “It’s because I’m sick. You couldn’t fix me, so you left.”

“No,” she said, not hesitating to reach out, hand firmly grasping his. “Mulder, I didn’t leave because you were sick. Please, it’s important to me that you know that.”  
He watched as tears began clouding her eyes, and he leaned his head against the wall, wishing not for the first time that this were easier. “Maybe it’s not the best time for this discussion, Scully. It’s late, and you need to sleep.”

“I don’t care how late it is, and if I need sleep, then so do you,” she said. She gave his hand a squeeze, feeling relief when he didn’t pull away. They’d done this for so long, the constant push and pull, that it was nice to simply be in the same space at the same time. The hour may have been late, but she knew the words needed to be said. “I didn’t leave because of you. I mean, maybe I did, but it was also because of me. It was because I need some time.”

He wanted to ask for what, but chose instead to ask the question he wanted an answer to even more. “How much time? It’s already been months, Scully, and I’m doing better. And look at us,” he said, voice on the edge of pleading as he gestured with his free hand between them. “We’re better, aren’t we? At least we’re trying to be. How much time?”

She felt tears began to well up again, and she shook her head in hopes of keeping them at bay. “I don’t know,” she replied, meaning it honestly. While there were guide books and even videos on how to best approach these situations (if asked, she wouldn’t admit it, but she’d actually partaken in some, in the years past when she’d seen signs of their relationship beginning to crumble), but none seemed to provide advice that seemed suitable for their situation. As she watched him silently waiting for more however, she knew they’d never been the kind of follow any sort of rule book anyhow. She removed her hand from his, bringing it up to brush against the stubble on his cheek, urging him to look at her. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t start with small things.”

“Like what?” he asked, fearing the answer.

Scully cast a glance about the room before settling her eyes back on him. “Like where you’re sleeping tonight.”

“I’m not letting you sleep on the couch, Scully,” he replied, shaking his head until he felt her finger press against his lips. His heartbeat quickened and his tongue darted out just slightly, tasting salt on her skin. 

“We have a guest room, Mulder, but I don’t intend on using it,” Scully said, the smallest smile playing on her lips. She ignored the flutter in her stomach, thinking it ridiculous to be nervous about sleeping in the same bed with the man she’d known for over two decades and who she’d been married to for nearly a quarter of that time. She tugged at the comforter, urging him to get up long enough to pull it down, then watching as he cautiously climbed in beside her. Like magnets, they gravitated towards the middle, with her pressing her head against his chest and him settling his hand against her hip. For a long while, they were completely silent and still, getting used to breathing in the same air again. She clutched at the fabric of his shirt and felt him take a shaky breath, smiling in the dark and feeling relieved to not be the only one who felt nervous. “Is this okay?”

Mulder nearly jumped upon hearing her speak, having resigned himself to silence until they both fell asleep. But upon hearing the uncertainty in her voice, he pulled back just enough to plant a kiss on her temple before drawing her back in close. With them, actions had always spoke more than words. “It’s more than okay.”

The next morning began with Mulder offering to make breakfast. Scully offered to help, and this time he let her, although he insisted on her chopping the tomatoes for their omelette at the table, where she could at least keep pressure off her foot. They ate in companionable silence, with her stealing a few home fries from his plate once she finished her own. They broached the topic of cleaning up, something that hadn’t gone so well the last time around, before the thought occurred to her. “I think it can wait. There’s something else I’d like to do first.”

“What would that be?” Mulder asked, fear mixing with hope as she moved to stand. 

“I wanted to go out and look at the garden. See where the vegetables we’ve been eating have come from,” she said. She held out her hand, beckoning him closer. “Take a walk with me, Mulder.”

The fact he avoided her hand, opting instead to go to her weaker side should his help be needed, didn’t go unnoticed. But as he watched her face light up upon catching sight of the garden once they were outside, it became clear that she didn’t care. “I know it’s not much yet, but--”

“It looks great. You did all of this?” Scully asked. She watched as he shifted his feet, digging his heels into the dirt, clearly uncomfortable with the positive attention to something that was his doing. 

“I did, yeah,” he replied. He rocked back, digging his free hand into his pocket and resting the other at the small of her back. He tilted his head back, marveling at how clear the sky was, given how gray and gloomy it had been the day before. Scully stood beside him, one hand poised above her brow, shielding her eyes from the sun. The image of her laying in the hospital bed just two days before, loopy on pain medication and bandaged up, was a sight he wouldn’t soon forget, but he was glad to see the image before him. Healing took time, a fact they both knew, though he wished sometimes it would happen faster. “I didn’t get rid of it because I knew you liked it.”

“What?” 

“The tea,” Mulder replied, feeling like he had to choose his words carefully. “I didn’t get rid of it because I knew you liked it, and I was afraid if I threw it away, it would mean something. Just like I didn’t bother boxing up the rest of your books and clothes. I guess…” he trailed off, wishing the right thing to say would be easier. “I cleaned. I grew a garden. I go to therapy, and though my knees hate me for it, I run around the property when I can. But I kept everything, because I just wanted to make things easier, if--”

“--when I came back,” Scully replied, her voice cracking as she corrected his word choice. She nodded, more to herself than to him. The wind kicked up and she watched as a dragonfly buzzed by, recalling reading once that they symbolized hope and transformation, not knowing if it was true, but hoping it did where they were concerned. “I think I need to head back to the city.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly hadn’t been that. He wracked his brain for a moment, thinking he’d been reading the signals all wrong. “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

“You can’t expect everything to happen overnight, Mulder,” she replied, hoping he understood. She turned towards him, reaching for one of his hands and lacing their fingers together. Scully swung their hands back and forth for a few moments, wanting her next proposition to be well received. “I was thinking however, that the apartment I’m at works well during the week when I’m at the hospital, but that on the weekends it feels a bit too empty. I was kind of hoping that I could come here on the weekends. For now.”

Mulder, not wanting to push his luck and knowing how big a step in the direction he’d like things to move her offer was, chose simply to nod in acceptance rather than urge her for more. Like she’d said, change wasn’t something that happened overnight, so if this was her olive branch of starting things anew, he was willing to take it. “For now,” he echoed, not lessening his grip on her hand as they made their way back to the house. He felt her squeeze his hand in reassurance, and it was more than he could have hoped for. “I like the sound of that.”


End file.
